


Captain

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Banter, Cis Douglas Richardson, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Held Down, Kissing, M/M, Size Difference, Size Kink, Teasing, Trans Martin Crieff, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23774680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: The things one says in the moment can be so revealing.
Relationships: Martin Crieff/Douglas Richardson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 72





	Captain

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't yet listened to Cabin Pressure, I totally recommend it!
> 
> [Listen to every episode on Soundcloud here](https://soundcloud.com/shanglitterbombed/sets/cabinpressure), and [here's a link to transcripts of every episode](https://arianedevere.dreamwidth.org/37526.html).

“Ah, ah, ah, _ah_—” Martin cries, his fingernails digging hard into Douglas’ back, but Douglas can hardly complain, can hardly force the giddy grin from his face as he wraps his hands around Martin’s waist, squeezing his hips as Martin works himself downward.

There’s something mystifying, something utterly hypnotic, about seeing the way Martin – little Martin, Douglas’ darling but _little_ captain – opens up to take him, and Douglas wishes he could lean back and watch more obviously, but Martin had squirmed and gotten so very embarrassed when Douglas had tried – it had been an uphill battle to convince him to leave the lights on.

For now, Douglas satisfies himself with what little glimpses he can get when he glances down between them, Martin’s slick, brightly pink lips parted around Douglas’ cock as he tries his best to work it deeper, seeing the sweet little button of his clit jump and jerk as he moves himself down.

Martin has skinny thighs, skinny like the rest of them, but Douglas could spend hours on them, kissing the freckles and moles scattered across the pink-pale skin, and he wants to, oh, how he wants to – he’ll have Martin spread out beneath him, soon enough, that he might suck the most lurid love bites he can all over him.

“It won’t fit,” Martin says, _whines_, against the back of Douglas’ ear, and Douglas wonders, in a faintly satisfied way, how deep the scratches will be down his back once they’re done here, how many days he’ll be feeling them for.

“Of course it will,” Douglas replies, and Martin moans and drops another inch at that alone: he’d already confessed that Douglas’ voice, husky and made especially low with sex, was an unexpected pleasure. Douglas gets a look at Martin’s face as he leans back, at the glorious, burning blush painted on those pale cheeks of his, making his freckles stand out, so very red he almost blends in with the auburn of his hair.

Martin’s lips are pretty like this, kiss-bruised and wet, but Douglas has always believed in improving a good thing – he catches Martin by the back of his neck and pulls Martin in to kiss him again, delights in the needy noises Martin makes into Douglas’ mouth, greedy, wanting. He’s so impossibly, delectably tight around Douglas’ cock, but Douglas is able to inch himself forward a little more as he distracts him.

“Nearly there,” Douglas murmurs, playing two fingers up the line of Martin’s spine as Martin digs his knees in against Douglas waist, feels the rapid rise and fall of his chest as Martin breathes in and out, his heart pattering away like a bird’s. 

“I can’t,” Martin breathes out. “Too big.”

“You _can_.”

“I ca—”

“Martin,” Douglas murmurs, tightening the grip of one hand on Martin’s hip, the other fisting so tightly in his hair that Martin squeaks and clenches deliciously, “you can, and you _will_.”

Martin stares into Douglas’ eyes, his own wide and shining, and when his lips move, it’s so very quiet that Douglas almost doesn’t catch it, but he hears the sibilance in it, and feels himself grin.

“Beg your pardon, Martin?”

“Shut up,” Martin says, stiffening slightly, the blush on his cheeks deepening. His ears turn red when he blushes – so charming.

“Did you just say, _Yes, sir_?”

“Shut up,” Martin says again, louder, more sharply. Douglas laughs, a deep belly laugh that must do something wonderful to Martin, because he squirms and gasps in pleasure, even as his mouth twists in visible embarrassment. He tries to shift out of Douglas’ grip, tries to pull away, snaps, “Don’t _laugh_ at me, I’m not funny, don’t—”

Douglas flips them over, grabs Martin’s skinny little wrists and holds them under one of his own palms as he shoves the smaller man down, forcing Martin beneath him. Martin shouts incoherently, tries to drag up one of his knees, but Douglas just grips his wrists more tightly and leans in closer, so that their noses are nearly brushing against one another.

He has to force himself to be _serious_, to be sexy, to be stern, and make sure his expression is something to match. He gazes directly at Martin’s face, his mouth a line, and he feels it in his chest as he rumbles, “Ah ah, Martin. You want to call me sir? I can be _sir_.”

Martin shivers. “Douglas—”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m _Douglas_, am I?” he replies, rocking his hips forward, canting in little by little, and this time he lets himself indulge, pins Martin’s hands at his sides so he can lean back and see the way his cock spreads Martin’s pretty little cunt wide. Douglas’ cock, he flatters himself, is a thing of beauty – not especially long, no, but _thick_, and he’s never appreciated that fact more than now, watching it spear Martin open, slick shining on his lips. He almost regrets the condom – Martin is hot and wet and lovely, and he can just imagine how slick he would feel on Douglas’ bare cock, how much he’d writhe and moan at the feeling of Douglas coming inside him. “You do look a picture, Martin.”

“Can’t take it,” Martin whimpers, breathless.

“Don’t you want it?” Douglas asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Y— Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Martin’s mouth twists into a frown, his brow furrowing, but there’s a wonderful tension in his body, a delicious _twitch_ of his muscles that reveals what he’s trying not to. “Yes— Yes, I want it.”

“Yes, I want it,” Douglas says, and he leans in again, puts his weight on Martin, cants his hips all the way back, draws himself until only his head rests inside, and he can feel Martin clench, eagerly, trying to tug him back in, “_what_?”

“Sir,” Martin whispers. “Yes, I want it, sir.”

“Do you, Martin? Do you really?”

“Yes. Captain.”

God, Douglas really is _weak_ for this awful little man sometimes. He restrains himself from laughing, because he knows Martin will take it the wrong way if he does, but he can’t help himself, so fond as he is: he presses his lips loosely to Martin’s in another quick kiss, kisses him until Martin relaxes, just slightly—

And then thrusts himself in to the hilt.

Douglas can’t help groaning at the feel of it, sheathing himself entirely in Martin, but that’s nothing compared to the sharp, whining cry that ekes out of Martin’s lovely, freckled throat, the way he arches so beautifully off the bed.

“Please, sir, sir, Captain, _please_, Douglas—”

Douglas rearranges them, pins Martin’s hands above his head again as he reaches between Martin’s legs with his other hand, flicking his thumb over the lovely bud of Martin’s clit, and there’s something sublime about Martin’s orgasm as it builds, the tension in his thighs, his belly, his shoulders.

“I want to see it, Martin,” Douglas murmurs, pressing down slightly, and Martin chokes out a whining moan, “I want to see you.”

“Sir, _sir_, let me—”

“I’m _letting_ you, sweetheart, now show me what you’re good for and let me see you come.”

That does it, apparently.

Martin all but screams, and Douglas files away that particular stroke of humiliation for future reference, focusing on rocking into Martin as he comes, feeling his every twitch and clench, feeling the jump and dance of his clit under Douglas’ thumb.

Martin is a lovely thing as Douglas fucks himself forward a bit faster, loose-limbed and giggly, and Douglas takes the opportunity to kiss and nip over his neck and his shoulders, not leaving any marks for now, and when he comes, it’s with a sigh against Martin’s jaw, his fingers buried in his hair.

Martin’s eyes are half-lidded and blissful, and Douglas can’t help his affectionate smile as he plays his thumb down Martin’s cheek before pulling himself out and tying the condom to throw aside.

“_So_,” he murmurs as drags a damp flannel over Martin’s thighs and between his legs, gently wiping sweat and slick away from him as Martin groans, but even as he protests, his thighs fall open in invitation. “You don’t want me to be captain in the cockpit, but in the hotel room, it’s a different story, is it?”

“Do we have to talk about it?” Martin asks, somehow managing to sound snappish even through his delightfully sluttish haze.

“No,” Douglas says. “I just think it’s rather sweet, that’s all. Lends a certain symmetry to our relationship.”

“Well, so long as it’s _symmetrical_,” Martin mumbles, and then moans, head falling back against the pillow, when Douglas slides two fingers back inside him, his thumb returning to Martin’s clit. “_Ah_, Douglas—”

“You can’t show me another one? I’d love to see it from this angle.”

“Douglas, _Douglas_—”

“You really _do_ look good enough to eat, you know, Martin.”

“Don’t tease, don’t tease, don’t tease,” Martin babbles.

“Who’s teasing?”

Martin squeals as Douglas wraps his lips around his clit, arching off the bed, and oh, this will ache later, Douglas’ knees on the hotel room carpet, but he’ll worry about that later – in the meantime, he has the loveliest view in the house as Martin writhes for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dictionarywrite) or [Tumblr](https://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/).


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